A/N: Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta!

Chapter 14

Lewis Baron ran the data again for the fifth time and hoped against hope that the results would be different. He had to be jumping to conclusions, so afraid of a worst-case scenario that his own emotional state was making him see what he was dreading. There had to be other possibilities he was overlooking. As he looked at the fifth set of conclusions, though, he knew that there weren't. He'd run the program five times and each time, the results had been identical. He swallowed hard.

Fisk had cautioned him not to warn the guilty party and Lewis knew that the big man's friendly advice had been a direct order. He wouldn't, couldn't let the culprit know his activity had been discovered. All the same…

Lewis reached into his pocket for the burner phone he'd picked up a few weeks ago. He hadn't thought he'd need it, but it was one more gadget he thought that real secret agents might have, along with the mini-cameras, rear-view sunglasses, and cell phone voice-changer. "Aunt Pam?" he greeted the party on the other end. "I'm great! How are you? Listen, is there any way that you can convince my grandfather to visit you in Zurich anytime soon? Like… tomorrow? Aunt Pam, no, I can't tell you what's going on. I really can't. But it's important that he get out of the country fast and I can't tell him why. No, I haven't been reading too many Len Deighton novels; this is real. I'll explain later. But for right now… let's just say he's crossed the wrong people and he has to lie low and… and I'm being watched. No, I haven't seen too many James Bond movies! Please. Yes, I promise it's real. And don't tell him any of this until he's out of the US. Yes, I'm being serious. Thank you, Aunt Pam."

He ended the call and exhaled in relief. He'd convinced his aunt. Now, he had to hope that she could convince his grandfather.

"Nightwing, report!" Batman repeated. While Daredevil couldn't see the expression on his face, he picked up not only on the tension in the other man's voice, but on the spike in his heart rate. Batman turned to him.

"Can you detect him?"

Daredevil shook his head. "Not that that means anything," he added. "This place is about two million square feet, spread over five main floors, a mezzanine, and a parking garage. My hearing's good, but it's got limits."

One of the police officers approached. "How much longer are you going to need?" he asked respectfully. "We'd like to secure this scene before CSI gets here."

Daredevil nodded. "I understand. We won't be long."

"We'll be as long as we need to be," Batman growled.

The officer spoke up again. "If we find your missing man, is there a way to contact you?"

For a moment, Daredevil worried that Batman would insist on conducting a room-to-room search. Understandable, but police respect for vigilantes in this city only extended so far. He had a good working relationship with the NYPD, but he'd had years to prove himself. And while Batman might have a similar relationship with the Gotham City police, that wouldn't mean much here in Manhattan. For a moment, the tension was palpable. Then the other vigilante took a breath and let it out. "Contact the Titans," he snapped. "They'll inform us."

The officer nodded. "Will do." He turned to go back to his fellows, but stopped and faced them once more. "It's possible he spotted someone fleeing the scene and left in pursuit," he suggested. "Radio signals can be a bit spotty in parts of the subway system, I know."

Batman shook his head. "He would have advised us if that were the case," he said with strained civility. "If he were able," he added.

There was that heart rate spike again. Daredevil cleared his throat. "Would there be a problem if we scouted around outside?" he asked. "Nightwing might not have reported if he wasn't leaving the grounds."

The office considered. "CSI's going to need to check the exteriors, as well," he replied. "But I can ask them to start indoors."

Daredevil nodded. "We appreciate that. Thanks."

"No doubt about it," Daredevil said grimly. "I smell Jet A. That's aviation turbine fuel. Someone flew a helicopter here. Can't tell if they landed it or just hovered overhead, but given how strong the fumes still are, they were here within the last hour, two hours tops."

He and Batman were in the Cantor Roof Garden. Batman was kneeling on the stone surface holding a device in front of him and moving it slowly in a wide arc. Daredevil couldn't tell whether it was some sort of computer, a radiation gauge, or just a flashlight. All his senses told him was that it was roughly the size of a television remote, and that it emitted a faint whirr that was likely undetectable to any ears save his own.

"Four people," Batman said tersely. "If they took Nightwing, he wasn't conscious, or he would have found some way to alert us." He sucked in his breath.

"You found something else?" Daredevil asked.

Batman was silent for a moment. "Oracle," he said, ignoring the question. "I'm sending you a photograph of a partial boot print. Cross-match and report."

Batman's radio transmitter was excellent, Daredevil reflected. He actually had to strain to hear Oracle's reply. "Bet you wish you could just drive back to the Cave and run this yourself, huh?"

He didn't rise to the bait. "Nightwing is missing," he snapped. "The print belongs to one of the parties likely responsible for it."

Oracle became serious at once. "I'm on it. But I have to tell you, I'm pretty sure I know that pattern. And I'm pretty sure you do, too."

"Be positive," Batman replied. "I'm not about to embark on a wild goose chase, because we both missed some detail."

"Roger that, B," Oracle said at once. "Stand by."

The seconds stretched to minutes and ticked past with agonizing slowness. Daredevil tried not to feel ignored. Batman clearly had other things on his mind, and from what Daredevil had observed, he clearly wasn't much for small talk at the best of times—which this, most emphatically, was not. Normally, Daredevil would have preferred things that way. Too much chatter was a distraction when he was trying to take in everything that his hypersenses were relaying. When he'd already completed his investigating, and the silence stretched on, and he was positive that he could feel Batman glowering, it was just uncomfortable. He was beginning to wonder how often Batman actually needed to resort to threats or violence when interrogating suspects. Maybe it was enough to stand there silently and exude menace.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, but was really more on the order of five minutes, Oracle came back online. "No doubt about it, Boss-man," she said, with a serious undercurrent belying her chipper tone. "The boot that made that print belongs to a H.I.V.E. agent. Custom design, not sold in stores, and unless they donate their old uniforms to Goodwill, there's no plausible reason for that footwear to be found in anyone else's possession. It's H.I.V.E."

Batman exhaled. "Copy that, Oracle. Daredevil believes that they left the Met via helicopter within the last two hours. See what you can turn up. We'll do what we can from here."

"Roger that, B. Stay safe." Then, with a note of amusement, "That goes for you, too… D."

Under his mask, Matt's eyebrows shot up. "Tell her, 'thanks,'" he said with a faint smile.

"I already closed the channel," Batman returned. "Let's go."

"Go," Daredevil repeated, even as he unholstered his billy-clubs. "Go where?"

Batman was readying his grapnel. "Back to the hotel. I may have a way to locate Nightwing in the Batmobile." He hooked a nearby flagpole and swung off the rooftop.

"Wait," Daredevil said, as he followed suit. "You parked your car at the hotel? Isn't that a bit conspicuous?"

"No," Batman replied, and now there was a hint of a smile in his voice. "Not necessarily…"

Nightwing was sure that he would never quite shake the initial feeling of panic, any time that he was immobilized. When his parents had taught him acrobatics, they had stressed the importance of safety to him, warning him that mistakes could result in death or paralysis. The thought of being unable to move freely filled him with more horror than the thought of dying.

Not to confuse his fear of paralysis with a fear or aversion to others in that circumstance, no more than a fear of fire would translate into an aversion to barbecue chefs or glassblowers. When Barbara had been shot and paralyzed by the Joker, it hadn't even occurred to him to look at her differently. She was still Barbara, with or without the use of her legs. He only wished that she believed it when he told her as much, but he held out hope that, one day, she would.

Meanwhile, he couldn't move and he couldn't see. There was a rough cloth sack—probably burlap—over his head. He could breathe without difficulty, which told him that he was probably in a darkened room, since the weave of the fabric was loose enough to allow him sufficient air, but no light filtered through it. Thick straps around his biceps, elbows, and wrists held his arms to his sides. There were additional straps at his knees and ankles. He fought back his involuntary panic. He wasn't paralyzed. He was just tied up—something that once happened so regularly that it was a wonder he hadn't gotten used to it by now. His lips twitched. Maybe the problem was that he'd gotten better at not getting captured as he got older. He was out of practice. Darned enhanced skill levels tripping him up, heh.

Now, how had he gotten into this predicament again? He tried to think back. He'd been at the Met, and there had been that stabbing sensation, and then…

…then he'd woken up here. Wherever here was. It was dark and noisy and he couldn't move about to try to get his bearings or find a light switch or…

You're still edgy because you're immobilized. You know better. Come on. Deep breath. Remember the meditation techniques Bruce taught you. Calm down. You've been in plenty worse situations than this one. Didn't you used to joke to Bruce that you could probably handle most situations with your eyes closed? Now's your chance. And before you start thinking it can't be done, remember who you've been palling around with for the last few days. Now, maybe you haven't got his enhanced senses, but you should still pay attention to what they're telling you. All of them.

He couldn't move his body, but his body was moving. He was in some kind of vehicle. The noises he was hearing… Part of that was an engine sound. And… was that a propeller? Helicopter. He was lying in the cargo area of a helicopter. And that meant it wasn't some private pleasure craft—those cargo bays were tiny. No, this was probably military—or military surplus. Or military stolen! He clenched his teeth. He couldn't be sure for now, wouldn't be sure unless they either took the bag off his head or were stupid enough to name-drop their organization while they were within earshot, but he was willing to bet that he'd been taken by H.I.V.E.

He smiled then. If that were the case, well, he'd dealt with H.I.V.E. before. And by now, Batman and Daredevil were probably hot on the trail. He knew that he was probably wearing some kind of transponder. Batman had given him a lot of gear and Dick knew that most of Bruce's gifts came with strings attached. Or, at least, homing beacons. All the same, he wasn't about to lie placidly and wait to be rescued. He listened more carefully. He wasn't sure, but he thought he was alone in here. If he wasn't, he imagined he'd find out in short order. Nightwing flexed and pointed his fingers and focused on accessing some of the tools he carried concealed in the wrist compartments of his gauntlets.

"Something tells me," Matt said slowly, "that this isn't a standard Lincoln Continental." The two men had changed back into civilian attire, rather than risk being spotted in costume on the hotel garage's cameras—which would doubtless have left security wondering what business two well-known vigilantes had with Mr. Wayne's car.

Bruce had been about to unlock the door, but he stopped and lowered the remote. "What specifically?" he asked, sounding curious.

Matt shrugged. "I know what you called it before and I doubt it was a slip of the tongue. But more than that," he added, lifting the hand he'd been resting on the chassis, "this metal feels different from the norm. Let me guess: bullet-proofed and heat-resistant?"

"Cold-resistant, too," Bruce nodded. "In addition, the car has a hydrofoil mode. It can't actually fly, but it's been equipped with glider wings. And, the touch of a button will modify the exterior to something more appropriate for my… nighttime activities."

"And you would have made modifications to the engine, too, I'm guessing?"

"Naturally," Bruce replied, with a hint of smugness. He raised the remote again and unlocked the two front doors. "Get in," he directed. "You can push the seat back far enough to give you to room change into costume. The windows are tinted for a reason. I'll convert the car to Batmobile-mode once we're away from the hotel."

"Isn't that risky in broad daylight?" Matt asked.

"Not in traffic," Bruce explained. "Once we're moving, we're one more car on the road. When I make the switch, the license plate switches too. And I took the precaution of registering the Continental to a numbered corporation." Matt whistled. "I've been doing this for a long time, Murdock," Bruce said with a hint of good humor. "I know how to hide a trail. Get into costume. We'll get underway as soon as we're dressed."

By the Matt had complied, Bruce was already in costume with his seatbelt on. He turned on the engine. "I can't access the onboard computer when parked," he explained. "Nightwing has more than a couple of transponder beacons secured in his costume and gear. Hopefully, that means that we'll be able to track him. However, as Nightwing could be well outside the city limits by now, it'll probably take a few minutes before the computer spits back a location, so we might as well drive. Do you have a destination you'd recommend?"

Daredevil considered. "Well, seeing as we're dressed for it…"

"Yes?" Batman prompted when Daredevil didn't continue.

Daredevil smiled. "I've got to admit I'm partial to the Chrysler building. It's not the highest building in Manhattan, nor the quietest, but I guess you could call it the freest. It's… sort of hard to explain."

Batman put the car into drive. "GPS programmed… ETA… twelve minutes. Don't get your hopes up, though," he cautioned. "Once the computer has a lock on his coordinates, if he's no longer moving, we're following. But if he's still airborne," he sighed, "I can't follow on the ground until it lands."

"Let me guess. You didn't bring a plane."

Batman was silent for a moment. "I can borrow one from the Titans," he admitted. "Under the circumstances, I may have to. But until we have something to work with," he continued, "I might as well get better acquainted with this city, in case I'm ever back this way again."

His wrists were free. The mini saws in the fingers of his gauntlets had taken care of that. Unfortunately, the blades were two short to reach the straps at his elbows. He tried flexing his arms and encountered something flexible with some give. With a costume that covered his skin from the neck down, he couldn't be positive, but he guessed that it wasn't just his head that was covered in fabric. They'd probably stuffed the rest of him into a burlap bag, too. Fortunately, they'd been content with tying him up before encasing him; they didn't seem to have added any additional ropes or straps outside the bag. That was helpful.

Nightwing frowned, listening to the engines and focusing on the motion of the copter. It didn't seem to show any signs of slowing and it appeared to be maintaining a moderately steady altitude. They were going to have to land before they could get him off; there was no way that they'd risk hauling him down a rope ladder from a hovering craft when he might struggle. Which meant that he had a bit of time to get free before anyone was likely to detect his activity.

Unless, of course, they meant to simply drop him out of the cargo bay in mid-flight. Which meant that he definitely had to get free sooner, rather than later. He turned the mini-saws on his fabric prison and set about emerging from the burlap cocoon.

By the time they'd reached the Chrysler building, the Batmobile's onboard computer had located Nightwing's transponder signal. The helicopter was headed upstate, though it was premature to guess at its final destination.

"It's doubtful that they're going to land within any city's limits," Batman said tersely. "It's more likely that they have a base in some unpopulated area."

"I agree," Daredevil said. "So, what now?"

Batman started the engine again. "You weren't counting on taking another jaunt around the city, were you?"

"I suppose not," Daredevil admitted. "I thought it might help settle some thoughts, but it's not really necessary." He carefully refrained from saying whose thoughts. It was clear to him that Batman and Nightwing were more than business associates, teammates, or even best friends. They were father and son. Perhaps not biologically, though it wouldn't really have surprised him if they were, but in every other way that counted. And as much as Batman tried to pretend that he wasn't frantic with worry, as much as he employed techniques that Daredevil recognized to steady his heartrate and breathing so that his stress wasn't as evident, every so often, that control faltered. Daredevil wasn't about to broach the subject. The other man didn't strike him as much for discussing his feelings and probing them would likely earn him a blistering retort and a silence thick enough to cut with a knife. Or a batarang. He'd only suggested an aerial tour of the city because he'd thought it might work as a stress-reliever. But now that they had a fix on Nightwing, Daredevil knew that Batman wouldn't rest until he knew that Nightwing was safe and H.I.V.E had been neutralized. In that order.

"So, I'm guessing that the glider function on this car won't allow us to pursue," he said. "Any ideas?"

Batman nodded. "The Bat-plane may be back in Gotham, but, as I mentioned earlier, the Titans should have something we can use."

"Call ahead and find out," Daredevil said, nodding. "If, for some reason, you're wrong, I've got some friends I could probably persuade to loan us a Quinjet." He paused for a beat. "Once they realize I won't be piloting it, that is…"

He wished he could discern whether the other man had cracked a smile.

Nightwing wondered whether he was losing his touch. It had taken him almost a full fifteen minutes to get loose and free of the bag. When he'd been Robin, taking ten would have gotten him benched from night patrol and sentenced to escapalogy drills in the Cave, until he either got his time down to a level that Batman considered acceptable or Alfred interfered. And Alfred rarely interfered. Nightwing suspected that the older man hadn't generally been opposed to an exercise that ensured that 'Young Master Dick' would be safe on the estate grounds, rather than leaping off of downtown skyscrapers while dodging bullets and Smilex bombs. On the other hand, Alfred had also hated to see his young charge miserable. Dick knew that if he waited three to five days, then audible sighs, puppy dog eyes, and an apparent loss of appetite (apparent, so long as Alfred didn't happen upon the shoebox Dick kept in his bedroom closet that concealed a stash of energy bars, dried fruit, and trail mix against such eventualities) could generally be counted on to get Alfred to put in a good word on his behalf to Bruce.

No doubt about it. Either Dick was slipping, or H.I.V.E. was getting better. He hoped it was the former. If he needed to get his skills back up, he could take the time to work on them. But if H.I.V.E. was improving, that was more worrisome for the long run. At the moment, though, he had a more pressing situation.

He activated his radio, taking care that he was on a secure channel. "O?" he whispered. "You there?"

"For you?" Barbara replied at once. "Always. You know, you're a pretty popular guy, right now. I know a couple of capes who are hot on your tail in a borrowed Titans jet at the moment."

"Nice to know they care," Nightwing smiled. "And at least they can tell where they're going. I'm in a helicopter's cargo bay, right now. A big one. No clue where I'm headed, though."

"Question of the hour," Barbara murmured. "I'll see what I can come up with, though. H.I.V.E. reached out to me a little while ago. They made me an offer that they didn't think I could refuse. Maybe I'll take their bait."

"Be careful."

"Respectfully, Former Boy Wonder?" she replied sounding amused, "I'm not the one who got nabbed at the Met by H.I.V.E. and stuffed into a helicopter. Pots and kettles, N. Pots and kettles."

Nightwing laughed. "Okay, Red. You got me. Let B know I'm still alive?"

"Just like old times," Oracle laughed back. "Using me to run interference, so you don't have to face a lecture about getting careless. Yeah, I'll take the heat for you, but you might want to stay out of Hell's kitchen from now on."

"Funny," Nightwing shot back. "That's not what Daredevil told me."

Barbara laughed and closed the channel. Dick smiled, turned on his flashlight, and began exploring his surroundings in earnest.

The H.I.V.E. Commander was having a very good evening. He'd just received confirmation that his agents were on their way in with cargo in tow. That was excellent news. Taking on the Titans as a team was a risky venture under the best of circumstances. Corralling one of them alone, on the other hand, could be managed with far better odds. And, after all, Nightwing was neither meta nor alien. At the end of the day, like any of them, he was a guy in a costume with a bunch of fancy toys. Alone, he was no match for H.I.V.E. and their toys.

He checked his incoming messages and the smile on his face grew bigger. Amy Beddoes had taken the bait. He logged into his 'Jim Crenshaw' profile and started composing another email.

Welcome, Amy!

The following exercise is a simulation.

Be friendly, he reminded himself. Be personable. Sound 'hip'. She's a kid. Use slang. He continued typing.

Your mission (should you choose to accept it, ;-) ;-)…) is to test the electronic security at a high-security installation. You are to break into their data banks, conduct a search for files containing the following names, copy all files meeting the criteria, encrypt them, and forward them to me at this address.

He quickly assembled a list of companies—most of them H.I.V.E. shell corporations (it never hurt to see how many of those covers could be easily blown. If Beddoes was already hacking the Titans' systems, he might as well get as much bang for his buck as he could), and added Baron and Baron to it. Now, what was a reasonable amount of time to give her? He considered. If she was as good as she seemed on her profile, she wouldn't need much time. And if she had too much time on her hands, she might start examining the files she'd retrieved and try to see whether there was a common thread. Couldn't have that.

You have thirty-six hours to complete your mission. Good luck!

Jim

He reread the message and frowned. It needed more chatspeak. Another winking emoticon? No, that was probably too much. He thought for a moment and added a 'TTYL' above his signature. It looked a bit silly to him, but if it put the whiz kid at ease, he didn't particularly care.

Smiling, he moved his cursor to the 'Send' button and clicked his mouse decisively.

When the 'copter landed, it was almost a full fifteen minutes before Nightwing heard someone at the cargo bay hatch. He couldn't say it surprised him. He and H.I.V.E. had an extended history. They were probably assembling one hell of a welcoming committee. Pity he wasn't interested in checking out the accommodations they'd likely prepared for him. He double-checked his position, making sure that he would be out of eyeshot of whoever was about to come through that hatch, as the door slid open.

Two H.I.V.E. operatives clambered in and regarded the prone figure on the floor wrapped in burlap. "Looks like he's still out," one said. "We might not have to give him that second dose."

"You want him coming to while we're carrying him down the corridors? You've never fought him, I have. And believe me, you don't want to take any chances with this guy. We keep him out and under until he's safely under lock and key."

As the operative spoke, he drew closer to the burlap-wrapped figure. "Keep your weapon trained on him in case he's playing possum. Good thing this stuff's intramuscular. I'd hate to have to waste time looking for a vein on this guy."

In the shadows, Nightwing watched. He was too professional to laugh, but he couldn't quite hide his smile. Cargo holds often turned up some interesting items and an assortment of floatation devices, tripods, rolled tarps, and other materials could be cobbled together into an effective decoy—at least, when the lighting was this lousy.

An instant later, the kneeling operative gasped. "Hey! How—?"

In the time it took him to utter those two syllables, Nightwing had the second operative disarmed, cuffed and gagged. The first swung about—and earned a boot to the face for his trouble. A moment later, he was as helpless as his companion. Nightwing grunted a bit as he pulled them further into the cargo bay. "You know," he said slowly, as he stooped to pick up the syringe that the first operative had dropped, "I was a little worried that once I was out of here, you guys might try banging on the walls to alert your friends. Nice of you to bring something in with you that'll help keep you quiet. Besides," he added, as he rolled up one operative's sleeve, "I think it'll be easier for me to stay inconspicuous if I borrow a H.I.V.E. suit. And since you look like you're about my size…" He rubbed the yellow fabric speculatively between thumb and forefinger for a moment before he injected the sedative.

There were six more operatives outside the 'copter. Nightwing dealt with them quickly and efficiently. Less than five minutes later, all eight were safely locked in the cargo hold. It wouldn't keep them for long and their absence might even be noted sooner, but meanwhile, he was free to explore and one guy in a bee suit looked much like another—especially when the visor in his face mask was tinted black, making it impossible to see the person beneath.

As long as he didn't do anything overtly suspicious, he could probably stay hidden in plain sight for a little while.

Bruce was likely still worried, but Dick wasn't going to risk communication from the heart of a H.I.V.E. base. Using a secured channel in a military-type helicopter was one thing. Sending out an unauthorized signal from an enemy stronghold—an enemy that had, in the past, demonstrated a fair bit of technological savvy—stood too great a chance of exposing him quickly.

And besides, according to Barbara, Bruce was already on the way. Which meant, Dick reflected with a smile, that he didn't have long to tidy things up before he got here. Hardly the behavior of a good host, he thought. Alfred would be horrified.

He squared his shoulders, checked his reflection as best he could in the glass of the helicopter door, and headed into the base.

"He should have signaled us," Batman muttered.

"It might not be safe," Daredevil replied calmly. "You know that."

"If I knew that were the reason," Batman snapped, "I'd be less concerned. Unfortunately, I don't. And this plane should have a cloaking field. If they'd come to me and asked—"

Daredevil sighed. "I realize that this probably sounds weird coming from me, but hindsight is 20/20. And you should be keeping one thing in mind at all times." He waited.

"And what's that?" It was almost a growl.

Daredevil smiled. "You trained him. I'm pretty sure he's fine."

Batman let out an explosive breath. "We'll know soon enough. Meanwhile," he pulled a lever and Daredevil gripped the edges of his seat cushion as the plane dropped significantly in altitude before levelling off. "Sorry," Batman grunted, not sounding sorry at all. "Without a cloaking shield, our best chance at avoiding detection is staying low and flying under their radar. We're probably not inside their range yet, but we will be in less than ten minutes."

"Noted. Anything I can do?"

Batman pulled a lever and the plane banked sharply. "Sit tight and don't talk."

Daredevil nodded. That much, he could do.

In the H.I.V.E. control room, one of the drones signalled her commander. "There," she said, pointing to a faint blip on her scope. "They're coming in low, trying to sneak past our radar."

The commander nodded. "Not one of ours," he replied. "Can we ID it?"

"Negative. ADS-B isn't returning an aircraft number and nothing overheard on Schenectady Air Traffic Control's frequencies. Doesn't sound as though they've picked it up."

"And this base isn't on any commercial flight paths," the commander said slowly. "I suppose it could just be a private craft that didn't file a plan or went off-course, but they're flying far lower than they ought to be." He took a deep breath. "We can't risk detection. Lock onto target and prepare missiles for launch."